Antipyretic
by ShinMarsDragon
Summary: When he hears of Commander Balbanes' illness, Zalbag Beoulve rushes home to find out what's happening. But before his father, he has to deal with his siblings.


Zalbag spurred his chocobo, Gygas, on, viciously aware of the beast's flagging stamina. He was still whistling the rousing melody a camp bard had taught him just before his rapid journey, for all the good it did. There was no way to shorten the distance between the front at Bervenia and Igros. All he could do was lean over Gygas' neck and hope he made it before the poor bird collapsed from exhaustion.

He hated to leave the front now of all times, when it was possible Saint Ajora's birthplace could be overrun by the Ordallian heretics. The six-month siege had only recently been broken, and their control over the surrounding area was still tenuous. He'd had to carve his way through three lost squads of Ordallian infantry before he'd gotten free of them, and away from the army there were bandits - former soldiers, fallen men and women - preying on travelers.

But his liege lord Duke Larg had requested his presence - for support and counsel now that his lord father Balbanes Beoulve had fallen ill. Zalbag was as bound to filial duty as he was to feudal.

The Ordallians had been driven back, and after Zalbag had personally carved two of their general's heads from their bodies he didn't think they'd be trying again so soon. They had a small window, and should the leader of the Northen Sky fall...Ivalice would fall into disarray, and the Ordallians gain strength. He had to know the situation himself.

His guard escort raised a glad cry at the sight of Igros' walls rising above the rock-strewn plain; the chocobos, sensing that home was near, surged ahead with previously unknown reserves of strength. Before the sun could sink behind the battlements they were received, set upon by a swarm of fresh-faced squires eager to hear news from the front in return for resting the chocobos. Gygas was taken away by a slight chemist girl who told Zalbag, "Lord Dycedarg requested your presence in the eastern office as soon as you arrived, sir."

"Thank you," Zalbag replied, then added, after the poor girl was nearly lifted off her feet trying to hold on to the reins, "Careful there. He's well-trained, but he gets beaky when he's tired." The beak and the stubbornness was why he normally took Gygas to the stables himself, but Dycedarg had gotten in the way of that. He left the girl leaning her whole body into keeping Gygas moving towards the stables and headed for his brother's office, stretching out the kinks of a long ride on the way.

It grated, not being able to go to his lord father or Duke Larg right away, but if Dycedarg wanted to see him, Zalbag could not refuse. Surely the Duke knew of this, he and Dycedarg shared everything, and his brother could give Zalbag a better overview of the situation anyway.

Still, he wanted to see his lord father's condition with his own eyes.

So his fingers were tapping on the fine blue cloth tablecover when Dycedarg finally appeared, his manner calm and his gait unhurried. Zalbag's fingers pressed into the table wood, but the chair didn't screech across the floor when he stood up. "Greetings, brother. How fares our father? Is he well, or doing poorly? Who else knows?"

"You're too excited," Dycedarg said mildly. "It's a poor trait in a general. Father just has a cold, it's nothing to worry about. We've kept the matter quiet, but it seems that was not enough to halt the rumor mill."

"Just a cold? That is all?" Zalbag had heard...well, a lot of things, some more believable than others. That Balbanes Beoulve stood at the edge of death, coughing up blood, or that he had been getting better before the harsh winter had laid him low, or that there was evidence of poison in his morning tea... The only thing he could be sure of was the terse letter from Duke Larg saying that Balbanes had fallen ill and requesting his presence as soon as it could be arranged. The letter had been dated four months ago, held up at Dogula Pass until the snow had melted and the Ordallians been driven back.

"Exactly. It's lingering, to be sure, but the chemists say that is just because of the cold winter air and he should improve in the summer." Dycedarg walked over to the cabinet and poured a glass of wine, which he held out to Zalbag. "A drink?"

Zalbag accepted it, more out of politeness than any need for wine. "I would like to see him as soon as possible. Duke Larg as well, it was he who requested my presence here."

"Larg did?" Dycedarg sounded a bit surprised. "I was not aware. Believe me, my brother, that is an overreaction. Indeed, it is your coming here that may be the larger difficulty. Now the rumors are confirmed, and our soldiers' morale will plummet. Now they feel unease without danger, and it is easy to give in when it is not your own lands that will suffer. They will talk of desertion."

"They already are," Zalbag murmured into his wine. Balbanes was a well-liked general, who had the faith and trust of every man and woman in Gallione. Seeing him laid low shook them to their core. Regiments served their captains, captains served their commanders, commanders served their generals...one simply couldn't put even another Beoulve in place and have it work. Zalbag had heard of three companies split up and scattered on his ride to Igros, all because they believed the war hopeless without the Knight Gallant. Battles were won and lost on such things. Dycedarg was being far too flippant about the situation for Zalbag's tastes.

Dycedarg apparently had sharper ears than Zalbag had expected. "Do you think I don't know that? I know what the common soldiers think of our chances with you instead of our lord father. That's why you need to be a stronger leader, and not come rushing home at the first sign of trouble."

"I was asked to come by Duke Larg. I will not refuse a request from my lord," Zalbag snapped, a bit harsher than he had intended. He knew he did not have the loyalty of Gallione in the same way his father did, not yet, but he did not need Dycedarg to point it out to him - nor did he need a scolding for being concerned. "I will speak to the commanders as soon as I can, and we will figure out a way to encourage the men. Your help in the matter would be appreciated, brother."

"Of course," Dycedarg said with an airy wave of his hand, "I will do everything I can to assist the war effort. When have I given you cause to doubt me?"

"Of course I am not doubting you-" Zalbag had started when the door creaked open to let a familar small blonde head poke through. He seized the graceful way out of what promised to be an awkward and unproductive conversation. "Alma! How you've grown!"

"Hello, brother!" His little half-sister slipped through the door, Ramza right behind her. She had grown quite a bit since he had last seen her at Orbonne four years ago; in a few years she would no longer be the child he always thought of her as. "Ramza said you'd come home. Is it because of father?"

"For the most part. There are issues I must bring before Duke Larg, but you need have no concern of those. Now, what are you doing here at Igros?" As far as Zalbag knew Alma was supposed to be safely secluded at Orbonne Monastery, far away from the rough bustle of soldiers at Igros.

"She got shipped away because they saw assassins lurking around Orbornne!" Ramza broke in, and got an elbow from Alma for his trouble.

"Ramza, lower your voice. Alma, don't strike your brother," Dycedarg said, clearly irritated at continually having to scold the two.

Alma ducked her head in apology before elaborating to Zalbag, "There were reports of Ordallian assassins - likely after Princess Ovelia - so everyone important was evacuated. Teta and I came back to Igros just as Father fell ill."

Zalbag hadn't heard anything about assassins after the Princess, but it made sense. The Oradallians were famous for their underhanded methods and the mysterious 'ninja' they hired from lands even further to the east. Ivalice was training some of their own out of methods gathered from prisoners and defectors, but it was a slow process. Only a few fully qualified ninja and samurai were among their forces. Zalbag could not deny their use, but he would always prefer a set of strong knights at his back.

"We were out gathering flowers to decorate Father's room with today," Alma continued, "and after that we entertained some of the wounded under care of the healers. Teta taught us all a song her mother taught her, about a maid in love with a monk on a red chocobo."

"I'm sure they appreciated the care of you two little angels," Zalbag said. Privately he worried about his siblings' close relationships with the Hyral children, but Teta was a sweet little girl and there were so few ladies of actual quality in the barracks of Igros. At least Alma would not be spending all her time listening to the bawdy and bloody tales that circulated among the squires. It would only last until Orbonne was made safe again, either way. "And I see Ramza has been working in the stables," he said, as a couple feathers dislodged themselves from where they had been hiding in Ramza's hair.

Ramza nodded, and another feather drifted to the floor. "They need more hands, so Delita and I have been helping when Sir Dyson gives us a break." Which likely wasn't often - Sir Dyson was a harsh taskmaster, able to force even the laziest of squires into swordsmanship.

"How goes the breeding? The Black Cavalry took heavy losses at Bed Desert, we need replacements as soon as possible."

"We're getting too many reds." Ramza looked apologetic, as if he were responsible for the color of the chocobo in the egg. "Most of them aren't biddable enough to be cavalry - and the yellows are breeding remarkably true this year. We've got some blacks, but not many."

"Hm." If this continued, they'd have to buy more black chocobos from Lord Redford, who had the best breeding stock in the kingdom and prices to match. Gallione would end up further in debt. "I will discuss it with Duke Larg and our Lord Father. Now, both of you should get back-" Zalbag stopped.

The room was silent. Alma and Ramza looked at him in confusion, but Dycedarg had his head cocked towards the door. He'd sensed it too.

"Brother, what's wrong?" Ramza whispered. Zalbag silenced him with a sharp gesture. Now Ramza and Alma picked up on it too, and they crowded together in the middle of the room.

Dycedarg took a step towards the door.

There was a soft click behind them, and Zalbag turned just in time to catch the shuriken on his glove and not in his throat.

The ninja who had thrown it was already through the unlatched window, his partner - a woman - jumping through behind him. They both wore the dark blue and green of Ordallia, and rushed towards the siblings without a noise.

Behind him Zalbag could hear Dycedarg snarl and Alma yelp, followed quickly by the sound of blades clashing and Dycedarg's cry, "Alma, as I taught you! Protect!"

Then the lead ninja's blade met Zalbag's arm, leaving barely enough time to draw his own sword to block the woman's slash from the side. The impact jarred his bones, but thank the gods, his armor held.

There was more shuffling and clashing behind him, but no time to think of it while the ninja continued to slash. The woman jumped backwards to avoid an awkward side kick from Zalbag - the best he could do with the man right in front of him - and tucked her hand into her clothes, coming out with two colored balls between her fingers. Those - damn magic balls - Zalbag wildly swung his sword to block one that exploded in a gout of flame, and the man took the opportunity to carve one of his blades straight into Zalbag's side. His armor blocked some of the hit, but he could feel the cold edge of steel in his flesh.

"Precious light, be our armor to protect us! Protect!" Alma's spell came just in time to save his arm from being sliced off, the angular light dulling the harsh impact of the man's other blade on Zalbag's right arm. Behind him, Alma's voice sounded very close to a scream. "Brother!" The fire had blinded him, he couldn't see -

It must have been St Ajora's hand the guided him then, for while he blinked away the pain in his eyes his blind swing found the man. It was a low swing that must have hit him in the knee; Zalbag could hear the thump as the man hit the floor, not heavy enough to be a kill. No more tricks from him. There was someone on his left, supporting him - had to be Ramza, he could hear Alma farther back chanting the words of a Cure spell, interleaved with Dycedarg's calling on the ancient ice. There was a crackling and the scent of lightning in front of him, but it was a woman's voice who grunted in pain. The other ninja?

A scrape of his gauntlet across his eyes let Zalbag see, just a bit, everything blurred and red. The man was down for the moment, but even now he was dragging himself back to his feet with a noticeable favoring of his right leg. He was bracing himself against one of the room's chairs, but it had the look of a feint. The woman was further back, shaking a little like she had just been struck by thunder. He couldn't afford to look behind him yet, but the sudden, deathly freezing wind must have meant that Dycedarg had the situation well in hand.

The wound in his side blazed like bloody lightning, hazing his mind with pain that settled in a fog over his eyes. But he could not take even one step backward. These dammnable mercenaries had attacked in his own home, in his lord brother's meeting room, when his young siblings were there. Not one step backwards.

Ramza's hand clung tightly around Zalbag's waist, but his spine was straight and Zalbag was grateful for the support. His brother's breath was harsh and shaking, his eyes held the first fear of battle, and he clenched his jaw and snarled out a challenge even their lord father would have been proud of. "Leave if you wish to live! The Beoulves will not fall to you in our own fortress!"

It was a brave thing to say, and it lightened even Zalbag's heart to hear it. Courage and faith were a man's greatest assets on a battlefield. "As my brother says! You have chosen your targets poorly, sellswords!" He raised his sword once again, pointing it at the man while tensing his legs to spring. "I'll stop you with one blow!"

The male ninja raised one blade to block, keeping the other behind him for the stab he never got the chance to execute when Zalbag's sword slipped under his guard and carved deeply into the meat of his arm. The woman cried out, throwing another ball - this one bright blue, out of the corner of his eye Zalbag saw Ramza throw himself forward as well, catching it in a clumsy, bare-handed grasp - Alma screamed "Cure!" so desperate as to be unrecognizable - the man fell backward -

That his wound knit itself together was the only thing that allowed Zalbag to continue his blow, forcing the man to scuttle backwards, hindered by the chairs. The woman was running forward herself, only to meet her own ball thrown from Ramza's hand. He threw it like a stone, but his aim was true, and the woman reeled under the ice she had intended for the Beoulves. The cold air lashed across them all, freezing Zalbag's breath even as his downwards strike ended the man's.

His sword met the woman's neck even as she stretched out her own blades. The light swords these ninja favored did not give her the reach to safely challenge the blade of an Ivalician knight. Thank all the gods Ramza had the sense to step back and protect Alma. Bereft of targets and companions both, the woman bowed her head and dropped her swords. Zalbag was not enough of a fool to drop his blade, but he breathed a sigh of relief. His side still pained him - one Cure was not enough, he'd need to find a Priest after - but it did not feel as if it was still bleeding freely.

Housekeeper Janet was going to kill him for carving up men on her clean floors. There'd be a stain there for years. It was unaccountably funny to think of now.

Zalbag waited for Dycedarg to push past Ramza and Alma - clinging to each other and shaking, it would pass - to start interrogating the woman. "Now," he started, "tell us of the one who hired you."

The woman didn't answer, just looked at Dycedarg like she was surprised to see the eldest child of the Beoulves in their own manor. Her eyebrows raised and lowered, brow creased in what must have been fury, and she leaned forward heedless of the blade against her neck. "You-"

Zalbag tilted his blade to push her back without cutting her throat. Dycedarg simply stabbed her in the gut.

"Brother, what are you doing?!" Zalbag cried in surprise as the woman stumbled back and fell to the floor with hardly more than a faint gurgle. "She was no threat, and had not answered any questions, and..." And their younger siblings stared with wide eyes at the woman jerking on the floor. What kind of knight stabbed a defeated enemy like that? What kind of example was he setting for Ramza? The children needed strong discipline to overcome their mother's blood already!

But one could not just ask that of their noble elder brother.

"No threat? You saw how she reached forward to attack. How do you know she didn't have more of those spellballs hidden in her clothing?" Dycedarg demanded. "They attacked, and if we had not been here would have slaughtered half the manor. Or would you stand by while she burned Alma to cinders?"

"Of course not, but now we have no idea where they were hired from, or how many of them there were, or anything else!" Zalbag grit his teeth. Bringing Alma into this was a low blow. And thinking of her... "Alma, go tell Father about the attack, then inform the priests. Ramza, you do the same for the Knight-Captain and guards. Go!"

"Brother, your wound-" Alma protested, but half-heartedly. Ramza was able to drag her away soon enough, though not without a fearful look at Dycedarg. It was a weight off Zalbag's mind. They would surely give their lord father the truth of the matter, and if Balbanes could not bring Dycedarg to heel then no one could. It pained him to trouble his lord father when he needed his rest to recover, but there was no choice.

Dycedarg let the pair go without protest before starting again. "They could not have brought a large force. This is far inside Ivalice's borders, any significant force would have been noticed long ago. I'm surprised they made it here with three." Three? Zalbag looked behind Dycedarg to see the final ninja, encased solidly inside a block of ice, blade still outstretched.

The sight did nothing for his peace of mind. "Three can be nearly as easily concealed as four."

"They must have been hired by Oradalia," Dycedarg continued, ignoring Zalbag's words. "We'll send out extra guards - you can oversee them. The men will be eager after hearing of this cowardly attack."

"We'll need double the soldiers around His Grace and our father." Zalbag rubbed a hand over his eyes. Damn it all, but Dycedarg was right about the men. There was little else that united like a current and present threat. Even the rabble called up to fight instead of harvest would be baying for blood. Captain Folles would have them rushing to fill the rivers with corpses - if Dycedarg could convince him to work his particular magic again. Between the two of them it was the perfect opportunity to solve their morale problems...if only now they didn't have to worry about being stabbed in their beds. "Flush the forest, especially by the river. It's the fastest mode of transport. The ninja use distinctive costumes, but I've heard it's only for the final attack. They're more than happy to dress like an Ivalician peasant if it will get them where they wish."

"I heard they wore those all the time."

"We can't rely on that." If only they could. But rumor had it a full squad of ninja had slipped by Bethla Garrison's defenses by dressing as a group of lowly squires and chemists, and Zalbag refused to take the chance. "We should check every guard too. Anyone who doesn't have anyone to vouch for them will be imprisoned."

"I see we can trust you to protect us, my brother. I'm relived." It still did not seem that Dycedarg was taking this seriously enough, even if his words were steady and he was completely in the right to hand over the military response to Zalbag. Had the attack unsettled him so much he didn't trust his own brother? It was almost enough to make Zalbag miss Dycedargs next words. "I will speak to Duke Larg about this. You should go see a Priest."

"I was planning on it." With the battle over and the weariness of travel and exertion settling into his bones, the wound ached more than never. Zalbag pressed his hand against it in a vain attempt to ease the pain. "After that, I must talk to Father...and then Duke Larg." He could not let this new problem interfere with his reason for coming, nor with his duty to his lord. "And someone needs to dispose of the bodies," he added, a bit belatedly. He had grown used to dining among the dead at Bervenia, but Igros was a civilized city yet.

"I'm sure Knight-Captain Casim will be on it as soon as Ramza can explain." Dycedarg gave Zalbag another look. "Can you make it to the chapel ward on your own?"

"I have suffered much worse than this, Brother, as well you know. I will manage." Zalbag dragged himself to the door to prove the truth of his words.

Dycedarg was not long behind, some worry finally starting to crack his sanguine demeanor. It was heartening to see, even if it was a bit late in coming. But his next words were steady, as if Zalbag needed reassurance like Ramza or Alma. "Do not worry, I will handle this incident. Just concentrate on what you came here to do." With that he turned Zalbag towards the priests and went his own way.


End file.
